Blessed Is He
by aussiechick21
Summary: Set both in the past and present. In the days already gone, the Winchester boys go on a hunt that may just be the end of them, one way or another. In the days ahead, they both must fight with all their remaining strength to make sure it is not. HurtSam
1. Pain of the Past

_Hello everybody!!! I haven't talked to you guys in a while, it's been a long time since a plot bunny bit me...and I've just moved house, and am starting to get settled in. I've missed you all! Just to let you know, this one may seem a little disjointed and different to my other stuff. It's a bit ramble-y and I'm not exactly sure where it's going yet. But I've got a bit done, so I thought I'd post and rely on you guys, as usual, for feedback and suggestions. Or just to say hi! So, the parts written in present tense are happening now, and the parts written in past tense are what has already happened...takes place late in season two, but before 'Heart', because I hadn't seen it yet when I started writing this one. Looking forward to hearing from you! xoxo_

**_'Blessed is he who loves his brother as much when he is sick and useless as when he is well and can be of service to him.'_**

**_-St Francis of Assisi_**

Dean brings them here, to X, because he can't think of anywhere else to take them.

He wants to take Sam somewhere warm and safe, where he can recover, where Dean can watch him and care for him, but he's starting to think there is nowhere warm and safe left in the world. At least, not for them. And he knows that's a fucking depressing thought, and an incredibly self pitying one, but right now he can't help it and he doesn't care. Nothing seems to go their way anymore. Nothing.

They arrive in the middle of the night, because Dean has been driving for twelve straight hours only stopping for gas. He drives because it's something he can do, something he has control over, something he is good at amongst the million things that he's not good at and he can't control. Like fixing his little brother, putting him back together and taking that awful expression out of his eyes.

He glances over at Sam, who is sitting slumped in the passenger seat, in the same position he's been in for the last twelve hours of the trip. Dean thinks it must be damn uncomfortable by now, and knows that Sam is going to pay the price for his stillness when he eventually tries to move again.

The glow from a streetlight invades the car and lights up Sam's features momentarily before they pass by it, then Sam's expression is lost again in the shadows. Dean doesn't need to see his little brother's face, though, to know how he looks.

Sam looks tired, lost, broken, defeated. There are shadows under his eyes because he hasn't slept in days; there are bruises on his face, a painful reminder of their last hunt, the one that has left Sam so broken and exhausted. Dean, too, but Sam is worse off, and Dean is forcing himself to hold it together, to be strong for his injured little brother.

He sees a sign for a motel that has twenty-four hour check in, and a neon green sign flashes 'vacancy' under that. He pulls into the parking lot and puts the car in park, his hand resting on the keys, ready to turn them in the ignition, ready to turn the car off.

"Sam, we're going to stop here for the night, okay?" He asks because he needs to check; because he so desperately wants to do whatever it is that Sam needs right now, whatever it is that Sam needs to make him all right.

But his little brother doesn't reply or even move, although Dean knows he is awake because the lights outside are reflecting in Sam's eyes. Sam won't look at him; he's staring out into the night. He won't look at Dean, he won't talk to Dean, he certainly won't tell Dean what it is he needs, so Dean has to guess and hope he's getting it right. Right now his best guess is that what Sam needs is sleep, a warm bed and a soft pillow to encourage and entice him into the rest he's been so stubbornly avoiding.

"I'll be right back." Dean exits the car, closing the door quietly behind him and almost jogging to the office. He rings the after hours bell impatiently, one eye on the dark interior of the building, one eye on the Impala and Sam. Even when the manager arrives to check him in, a middle aged lady in a robe and slippers, he keeps most of his attention focused on his brother. He signs for the room haphazardly and takes the offered key absently, impatient to be near Sam again, to make sure he's all right and that he hasn't slipped further into the silent world he's been inhabiting more often than not lately.

Finally, key in hand, he emerges from the office, and retrieves both their bags. He crosses to the passenger side door, opens it slowly and carefully, sliding a hand inside to support Sam, who has been leaning against the door all this time.

"Come on." He coaxes softly, the way he might talk to a frightened child or a small puppy. "Time to go inside now, Sammy."

Sam just looks up at him blankly, blinking slowly, and Dean can tell that Sam wants to understand what is being asked of him, that he wants to snap out of it, wants to stop being this helpless, lost person he has become, but that he doesn't know how.

"I'll help you." Dean promises, softly, and he's not just talking about getting inside.

Something flutters behind Sam's eyes; an emotion there and then gone so quickly Dean almost misses it. Then his brother nods, almost imperceptibly, and allows Dean to draw him from the car, one hand wrapped securely around his shoulder. When Sam tries to stand and move his knees almost buckle, but Dean is there already, an arm wrapped firmly around Sam's waist in preparation for this problem. Sam grabs at him anyway, to hold himself up, and his fingers twist in Dean's shirt, holding on tightly.

"I've got you." Dean reassures him, feeling a small flower of hope blossom in his stomach. He didn't expect Sam to try and save himself from falling. If Sam doesn't want to fall, maybe things will be okay again after all.

He helps his brother to the room, helps him inside and eases him down on the bed farthest from the door. He slides Sam's jacket from his shoulders, unbuttons his over shirt, kneels down and unties his brother's shoes and tugs off his socks. Sam allows all this, his eyes drooping in exhaustion, swaying slightly where he sits. Dean holds him still with one hand while he turns down the bed, then helps him lay down and tucks the blankets over him as if he is a small child again, and not a grown man who's actually taller than Dean.

Sam's hand reaches out and closes over Dean's wrist, his touch tentative and soft, not demanding, not revealing his need. But Dean knows anyway and immediately sits down on the side of the bed, smoothing the covers over his brother's chest. "I'm here." He says, quietly, and Sam looks relieved.

"Thanks, Dean." He whispers, and Dean can see him fighting to keep his eyes open.

He lays a hand on Sam's head and runs his fingers through the wavy brown hair. "Go to sleep now, Sammy."

Sam has obeyed him, giving in to the exhaustion, when Dean's phone rings softly in his pocket. He pulls it out and glances at the caller ID, and when he sees Ellen's name, he turns the phone off and tosses it away.

He can't talk to her right now. If he does, he'll say things he'll regret, and he knows that. Now, in the aftermath, some small part of him blames her for this, for what has happened to him and his Sammy, and he knows that's not fair.

There was no way Ellen could have known what would happen.

* * *

They were cruising down a highway when she rang them, not going anywhere in particular, just driving. They'd finished off a poltergeist in Ohio the night before, and there was a muted sense of contentment in the car. Dean, in particular, felt satisfied. His car was purring like a kitten, ACDC was blaring from the speakers, and Sam was safe and sound beside him. Uninjured, healthy, happy. Life was good. 

Then the music changed; a conflicting tune joining the classic rock, and Dean shot his younger brother a disapproving glare as Sam turned down the music.

"Dude," he complained without any real heat, watching out of the corner of his eye as Sam glanced at the screen of his mobile before answering.

"Hello?" He turned the music off altogether, ignoring his older brother.

"Sam. Hi, sweetie." The female voice that was slowly becoming familiar to his ears greeted him.

"Hi, Ellen."

"How are you boys doing?"

"Fine, thanks. What's up?" Sam liked Ellen, but being around Dean for so long was starting to rub off on him. Chats on the phone were kept simple and brief.

"I've got a job for you and Dean, if you'd like to take it."

"A job?" Sam repeated, glancing over at Dean, who raised his eyebrows and inclined his head slightly. "Okay, what is it?"

"An old friend of mine called me this morning. Her husband was a hunter too. They have a son, he'd be about ten now. Faye-that's my friend's name-she thinks her son may be possessed."

"Possessed?" Sam's voice was a little stiff, and Dean glanced over at him. Possession was still a touchy subject around Sam, who still felt guilty about what he'd done while under the power of the demon they knew as 'Meg'. Sam avoided Dean's gaze, waiting until his older brother looked back at the road before continuing his conversation. "What makes her think that?"

"Well, there's a few warning signs. It's early days yet, she says she only noticed changes about a week ago…but Jordan's been acting up, which isn't like him…talking to an imaginary friend all the time, saying things that are completely out of character…and last night, she found their pet cat, dead under his bed. She said someone killed it."

Sam frowned a little. "Okay. Where does she live, Ellen?"

Dean waited while Sam jotted down an address and said quick goodbyes to Ellen. He hung up and tossed his mobile onto the back seat.

Before Dean could speak, Sam did. "So looks like we've got a new gig." He said quickly, not looking at Dean.

"What's the story?" Dean kept his voice neutral and listened in silence while Sam relayed what Ellen had said.

Once he'd finished, Sam pulled out the road map they kept in the glove box and unfolded it, and Dean wasn't fooled. Sam was nervous, or worried.

"Sam." His younger brother didn't look up from the map. "Sam." He tried again.

"I'm just trying to work out the quickest way to get there." Sam muttered, tracing lines on the paper with his finger. Dean rolled his eyes and reached over, snatching the map away.

"Dude, I know the quickest way to get there. It's not far. But right now, I'm not convinced that we should go."

Sam hesitated, torn, wishing his brother wouldn't do this. He knew exactly what Dean was talking about, and knew that pretending he didn't wouldn't hold off the conversation for long. But it was one he really didn't want to have.

"Come on, Dean." He said softly, looking down at his hands. "This is what we do."

"Maybe it's too soon."

"We've been hurt by spirits a hundred times." Sam pointed out. "Does that mean we're never going to hunt a spirit again?"

"No, Sam, dammit, that's different." Dean raised his voice a little. "Stop being so…I know what you're trying to do, and it's not going to work."

Sam sighed. "Dean, I'll be fine. We'll probably be safer than we would on any other hunt. We've got those charms Bobby gave us, right?"

"Yeah." Dean conceded reluctantly.

"So." Sam shrugged. "It's just a simple exorcism. Won't take long. Let's just do it, okay?"

This time he did look over at his brother, and Dean saw weariness and sadness in his expression, and that made him want to say no. Sam was tired, Dean could see that. He'd been tired ever since his possession, moving like he was on auto pilot, not letting himself get overly involved in anything, and that wasn't like Sam. Dean knew his little brother was trying to deal with what had happened; was struggling to overcome the guilt of having killed a man…even though it wasn't him that had done it, and he'd had no control over his body at the time. Dean wasn't good at the touchy-feely stuff, and even if he had been he was unsure there was anything he could have said or done to get Sam through this. It was Sam's own personal battle, and it was one Dean was afraid his little brother was losing.

He had his puppy dog eyes on though, which meant Dean couldn't say no, even if he wanted to.

"Okay." He muttered, allowing Sam to retrieve the map and begin folding it carefully back up.


	2. Here Goes Nothing

**_Hi again everyone! So I am having some MAJOR problems with this site, and have been trying to get this chapter up for ages. I'm going to try this method which was kindly posted to me by Jackline, a huge thankyou. Hopefully it works and we can get on with the show! Thanks to everyone who reviewed the first chapter, it was great to hear from you all again, and from the few new faces! Hopefully you'll enjoy this installment and we'll chat again soon. Here goes nothing! (Crosses fingers and toes) xoxo_**

"I thought you said you knew the way." Sam grumbled as he unlocked the door to another motel room, trying to squeeze as much of himself as he could under the tiny awning which was the only protection on offer from the pouring rain.

"I wanted to take the scenic route." Dean snapped back, jostling his brother to try and get under the shelter himself.

"Stop bumping me! I'm trying to unlock the door!" Sam bumped at his brother with his hip, and Dean smacked the back of his head in irritation.

"It's not rocket science, College Boy. You went all the way to Stanford and you can't unlock a door?"

"It's old, the key keeps getting stuck." Sam kicked backwards without looking, hiding a smile of satisfaction at the yelp of pain Dean made behind him.

"Sam, hurry up!"

"Dean, shut up!"

A couple more minutes in the rain and another few kicks and smacks later, the key finally turned and the brothers crowded inside.

"Shotgun the shower." Dean said quickly, dumping his duffle bag on the bed nearest the door.

"Fine." Sam said petulantly, sitting down on the other bed and kicking his soaked shoes off his feet. "If you'd just admit you didn't know the way, Dean, this wouldn't have happened."

"Stop whining." Dean rolled his eyes. "So we got a little wet. Water won't hurt you, Sammy boy." He made to swat his brother on his way past, warm, dry clothes in his arms, but now he was close enough to see the little shivers running through Sam's frame, and the swat turned into a concerned hand on the back of Sam's neck. "Are you that cold?"

Sam gave him an irritated look. "No, Dean, I'm warm and toasty."

Dean looked longingly at the door to the shower and then sighed inwardly. "Go get in the shower, Frosty."

Sam glanced up at him suspiciously. "I thought you wanted first shower?"

"As miserable as I am right now, I'll be more miserable if I have to listen to you moan and groan because you've got a cold for the next week." Dean said lightly. "Go on, Princess. Just don't be all night."

"Thanks." Sam made his way to the bathroom, and Dean shook his head as he opened his brother's bag and retrieved the dry clothes Sam had forgotten. A moment later he knocked lightly on the door.

"Sam."

The door opened a crack and Sam peered out, towel wrapped around his waist. When he saw what Dean was holding out he smiled ruefully. "Thanks."

Dean sat on his bed and listened to the sound of the shower running. He'd seen the look in Sam's eyes when he offered him first shower and gave him dry clothes. Gratitude. And something close to adoration. It was the same look a much younger Sam would bestow on him when Dean patched up scraped knees or scratched hands; when he gave the younger boy the last chocolate bar or let him crawl into Dean's bed after a nightmare. It was a look that said Sam trusted his older brother to look after him.

Dean knew that Sam didn't see it the same way, but Dean felt he'd failed that job. After all, Sam had been possessed by a demon that wanted revenge on Dean. His older brother had failed to protect him from that.

More than anything, he wanted to protect Sam from more hurt; he wanted to help his little brother to heal and recover from the emotional trauma he'd gone through.

He didn't know whether this job, this exorcism, would help or hinder the process. He was winging this older brother thing now, guessing at what was best for Sam in this situation in which he had no experience. All he had to go on were his gut instincts, and the little that Sam had said.

In this case, Sam said he wanted to do the exorcism, and Dean was grudgingly going along with it. He hoped that maybe it would give Sam some sort of closure; would help him to come to terms with what he had just gone through.

* * *

When Sam finally falls asleep, there is no rest or peace to be found in his dreams.

The nightmares attack him full force, like rabid, crazed animals, and he is helpless under their furious onslaught.

He doesn't dream about the hunt that has left him battered both physically and emotionally, and he doesn't dream about Mum, or Jess, or Dad, or the thousand horrible things he's seen in his short life that are worthy of nightmares.

He dreams about the one thing that hasn't happened, and that is worst of all.

He dreams of fire, and blood, and burning, and Dean.

He dreams of Dean on the ceiling, pinned there above him bleeding and burning and dying, and Sam screams in terror and anguish until his throat is raw, and that part isn't a dream, it's real.

He can't separate the waking world from the horror of his nightmares, and he squeezes his eyes shut hard because he knows he is lying on his back, knows that if he opens them now he will be looking at the ceiling and he knows what he will find there.

He thrashes onto his side, gasping for air, making ragged whimpering sounds that are all his raw and hurting throat will allow him to make now. But the sounds are the same as his screams, they are both the word, "Dean."

Dean has been beside him for at least five minutes now, trying to hold Sam still, trying to quieten him, trying to calm him, but Sam isn't responding, only whimpering his older brother's name, again and again, in a desperate plea Dean is trying to answer.

"Sam, I'm right here. Open your eyes. Open your eyes and you'll see me."

The familiar voice finally cuts through the terror induced haze of Sam's nightmare world, but he squeezes his eyes shut harder, afraid of what he'll see if he obeys the order. If he can't see it, maybe it isn't real. The problem with that theory is that the image is already burned into the backs of his eyelids, torturing him even now. He gives a choked sob and shakes his head, hard, trying to rid himself of the terrible picture.

"Sammy." There is a hand on the side of his face, now, the calluses are rough and the touch is gentle and both are familiar. "Little brother, open your eyes. Look at me."

The Dean on the ceiling in Sam's mind writhes in agony and Sam's eyes fly open at last.

Dean is crouching beside the bed, only inches away, one hand on Sam's face and the other on his arm, his eyes warm and concerned and open and alive, and Sam sits up so quickly that Dean loses his balance and lands hard on his ass because his hold on Sam was anchoring him.

"Sammy…" He tries, but Sam is struggling out of the blankets faster than Dean can speak, and in a second he too is on the ground, kneeling in front of Dean, and reaching out with trembling, clumsy hands to lift Dean's shirt so he can see the smooth, unmarked skin of his brother's stomach.

"Sammy…" Dean tries again, his voice gentle, and Sam lets the t-shirt fall down again and then grips it, staring at Dean with his eyes over bright and his chin trembling.

"You were on the _ceiling_," he says, his voice shaking and wet and weak, and the tone is frightened and miserable and a little accusatory.

Then Sam bursts into tears and Dean says, softly, "No I wasn't," and reaches for his brother, pulling him down and against his chest so that Sam is pretty much huddled into his lap.

"I wasn't, Sammy, it wasn't real." Dean soothes him, as Sam buries his face in his older brother's chest and lets Dean stroke his hair which is damp with sweat from the nightmare. "It was just a bad dream."

Sam curls himself into a small ball that Dean can easily wrap his arms around, and sobs weakly against his brother's chest while Dean strokes and soothes and shushes him.

He tries to remind himself that this is real, and not the image he can still see in his mind.

* * *

The house that Ellen's friend Faye lived in was about a half hour out of town, and they had to turn off along a dirt road to get to it. The tires of the Impala crunched along the rocky road beneath them and small clouds of dust eddied gently behind them and dissipated into the trees.

The house was a sprawling old building, with a verandah that wrapped around the front and two sides. It looked slightly dilapidated, not neglected, but lived in. It looked like a home.

Dean parked the car in the driveway and cocked an eyebrow at Sam. "Last chance to ditch this gig and head for Vegas. Gambling, alcohol, strippers…what do you say?"

It was a weak joke, but then again he was only half joking. Sam's only reply was to roll his eyes and exit the car, and Dean sighed as the passenger side door creaked shut. "That's what I was afraid you'd say."

He followed his brother towards the house, eyeing the large black mutt that came bounding towards them warily. He was about to warn Sam to be careful, but the dog was already leaping all over his younger brother, wagging its' tail and trying to lick the younger Winchester's face in excitement.

"Looks like you made a new friend." Dean observed wryly as he drew level with his brother and the over-excited canine.

Sam was grinning a bit as he ruffled the dog's floppy ears, and Dean was reminded by the pleasure in Sam's expression of the way he'd begged for a dog as a kid.

The introductions between his brother and the big black mutt, whose name, they would later learn, was Digger, were interrupted by a slim, middle aged woman with blonde hair and worried eyes. She introduced herself to the Winchester brothers as Faye, and shook both their hands with a firm grip. Dean thought she was attractive, but in a tough, ballsy kind of way…kind of like Ellen.

"It was good of you to come." Faye said as she led them towards the house. "Ellen has a lot of good things to say about you boys." She stopped on the top step and looked back at them, and they could both see the doubt and the determination in her eyes.

"A lot of good things which you don't necessarily believe, right?" Dean didn't beat around the bush either, and Faye inclined her head slightly, a new respect which obviously had to be earned to be awarded starting in her eyes.

"It doesn't sit completely right with me, trusting my son to strangers." She admitted, but with no hint of apology or embarrassment. "Family should look after their own, right? But I'm in over my head on this one. I just want you to know…he's all I have. Whatever you do…it better help him, not hurt him."

"We're not in the business of hurting kids." Dean said with a smile that was more like a grimace, but Sam laid a hand on Faye's arm.

"We know how you feel." He said earnestly, and although he'd never say it aloud, Dean agreed whole heartedly. He could sympathize completely with this woman, with her desire to keep the last of her family safe and protect him from anything. He looked at Sam, who was looking at the woman with total sincerity in his big brown eyes. "We're going to help your son." He promised, and later Dean would wish that Sam would stop making promises that he didn't know if he could keep. Then maybe he wouldn't have so many things to feel guilty over later.

Faye led them through a house that was airy and open, though littered haphazardly with toys, books, clothes and shoes. A sooty coloured cat wound its' way around their legs as they climbed the stairs, mewing softly. Sam, of course, bent to pat it, and Dean rolled his eyes when the sudden stop nearly caused him to walk into his brother's back.

"Come on, Sam, we're working a job, not visiting a petting zoo." He grumbled under his breath.

As they made their way through the house they glanced at the photos adorning the walls. They were family pictures, of a younger looking Faye with a smiling man and a baby. As the photos became more recent the child grew and the father disappeared, and new lines appeared on the mother's face. Dean felt the usual compassion he did when a child entered the equation; and perhaps a little more than usual, as well. He could identify now with the pain of losing your father.

Sam looked at the pictures and his heart felt heavy. He remembered the letter he'd found in Steve Wanell's desk; a letter from his daughter. Another child who no longer had a father, this one because of Sam. Sam who had broke into the man's home and murdered him.

His dark thoughts were interrupted by Faye stopping in front of a bedroom door. She looked back at the Winchesters as if she was about to speak, then nodded once and opened the door.

Dean brushed past his younger brother so that he would be the first to enter the bedroom. Not that he considered a ten year old child a huge threat, but placing himself between Sam and danger of any kind was as much habit now as eating or sleeping.

Faye's son Jordan was sitting cross legged on the floor, playing with toy cars spread around him. He looked up when the three newcomers entered the room, but didn't say anything.

" Jordan, honey." Faye said carefully. "This is Sam and Dean. They're visiting us for a while."

The child stared impassively at the brothers, and Dean crouched down to be closer to his level.

"Hi, Jordan." He greeted the dark haired boy in his most child-friendly tone. "How are you?"

Jordan locked eyes briefly with Dean, then looked over his shoulder to where Sam was still standing a step behind his brother. A slow smile spread over his face, but there was no warmth in it.

"I'm glad _you've_ come." He said to the younger Winchester, and then the blue of his eyes darkened and stained to a murky black.


	3. Bad To Worse

_**And as a special treat...I'm going to post chapter three as well straight away now that I know how to, because you've all been so patient waiting for the second chapter and so kind in your reviews! Thank you all again. Hope you're enjoying your weekend! xoxo**_

Sam is staring at the carpet, refusing to look at Dean. From this angle the older Winchester can see the shadows under his brother's eyes, the stubble that is growing on his cheeks. This small thing magnifies his worry in a way some would scoff at, but it isn't like Sam. Sam keeps his face smooth and clean, and under normal circumstances his older brother would tease him about his facial hair. But Dean knows the hair is there because Sam is losing interest, because he's receding into himself, and the stubble is a sign of this, just as his dull, unwashed locks are and the way he throws on whatever clothes fall first into his hands.

"Sam." Dean says, his voice loud in the silence between them, but Sam doesn't look up from the carpet. He ignores Dean, as if by pretending his brother isn't there he can make the problem go away. "Sam!" Dean crosses the room to his brother, and Sam starts to turn away, but Dean catches his younger brother's chin and pulls it around and up so that Sam's face is pointed towards him, although his eyes are still on the carpet. "Sam, this has got to stop. You have to talk to me." It comes out rough and a little angry, but Dean is scared for his brother and doesn't know how to help.

Sam doesn't look up. "You're hurting me." He murmurs, his voice little more than a whisper. Dean realizes then how tightly he is gripping Sam's chin, as if by holding onto his brother he can stop him from disappearing right in front of Dean's eyes.

He crouches then in front of Sam, loosening his hold until it is more like a caress. "Sorry." He watches his brother patiently, until finally, weary chocolate eyes meet concerned mossy ones. "I'm worried about you, Sammy." He says softly. "Please talk to me."

"I'm all right, Dean." Sam whispers, lowering his eyes again because this is a blatant lie and he knows Dean will read it in his eyes. But Dean doesn't need to see his eyes to catch him out in this falsehood.

"No, you're not, Sammy." He says softly. "You have to stop this. Sam, it's okay to be…to be not okay. But this pretending that you're doing? This shutting me out? That's not okay, Sam."

"I thought you didn't like talking about feelings, Dean." Sam bites out, still not raising those big brown eyes.

"This isn't _about_ me, Sam." Dean tries to keep the impatience out of his voice and touch as he lets go of Sam's chin, but he knows he has failed when something flickers behind Sam's eyes and his younger brother flinches away, almost imperceptibly. His anger immediately turns inward. He knows that he needs to treat Sam gently at the moment, but patience has never been a virtue of Dean's. He knows there is no quick-fix solution to this, but he so badly wants there to be, because he so badly wants Sam to be okay.

"You're right, Dean, it's not about you." Sam says hoarsely, and Dean doesn't know whether Sam's voice is so harsh because he's angry or because he's about to cry, and he doesn't know either which one of these he would prefer. Before he can stop Sam from speaking and try to repair the damage he's done, Sam continues. "It's about me, and I seem to remember you telling me to stop dumping my crap on you. That's exactly what I'm doing. So back off, okay?"

Sam makes as if to get up off the bed and Dean quickly closes his hands around his younger brother's biceps, holding him down and still. He can feel that Sam has lost weight, and even the tiny struggle Sam puts up to shrug his older brother's hands off is weak. He hasn't been eating, only pushing the food Dean gives him around on his plate and every now and then nibbling a corner.

"Sam." Dean tries to make his voice firm and gentle at the same time, tries to convey that he is in charge of this situation, and also that he loves his brother and only wants to help him. He waits a second, and Sam stops trying to pull away, his shoulders slumping the tiniest bit as he gives up.

"That's not fair, Sam." Dean speaks again when his brother is still, loosening his hold on Sam's arms so that his brother won't feel trapped or forced. "Dad had just died, and I wasn't handling it, man. I felt like shit after I said that to you, and you know that."

"You never told me you felt bad." Sam mutters reflexively.

Dean snorts softly. "Since when do I need to tell you how I feel? You always seem to guess okay without my help."

"Yeah, and you wonder why I don't want to talk about how I feel after being raised by you and Dad."

"You're avoiding the subject." Dean chides him gently.

"I'm not avoiding the subject!" Sam raises his voice and it's shaking again, whether from anger or emotion Dean can't tell because Sam still won't look at him. "I don't know what the hell you want from me, Dean! When I do try and talk to you, you tell me to get lost or no chick flick moments, when I just want you to leave me alone you tell me I need to talk more! Just back off, okay!?"

Dean listens to the little tirade in silence, and waits a minute after Sam falls silent again, breathing raggedly. "Okay. You done?" There's no answer from his younger brother. "Is yelling at me making you feel better, Sam? Because if it is, I'll gladly let you do it all night. But see, I don't think it is gonna help. I think it's just going to make you feel worse later on. So you can fight me every inch of the way, if you want, you can yell at me and be angry at me…hell, you can even punch me if you want. You owe me one anyway. Sam, I just want to help you."

A moment later a tear slides down Sam's cheek, and his breathing hitches.

"Sammy." Dean says softly, and his younger brother gives up and leans forward until his forehead rests against Dean's collarbone, his shoulders shaking slightly. Dean slides one arm protectively around his brother's back, and raises his free hand to tangle his fingers in Sam's soft hair, grateful that Sam has slid into his embrace willingly and of his own accord. "I want to help you, buddy, but I don't know what you need." He whispers into Sam's hair.

"Neither do I." Sam says brokenly, helplessly through his tears, and Dean tightens his hold, wishing fiercely that he was a better big brother, that he could somehow know what Sam needs without being told. As if Sam can read his mind, he adds shakily, "I don't really want you to back off or leave me alone, Dean. Just…you just being here, helps."

"It's gonna be okay, Sammy." Dean is making the promise before he realizes what he's saying; before he remembers that he can't promise that, not really. So he changes the promise to something that he knows is true. "I'm right here." He whispers as he holds his brother and tries to calm his tears away. "I'm here, Sammy."

* * *

They tried the exorcism ritual in their father's journal, and the thing laughed in their faces.

"Binding spell?" Sam suggested, his eyes falling to the scar on his own forearm.

They locked the door to the bedroom and grabbed the child, trying not to be too rough, but of course demonic possession gives the host an inhuman strength, and by the end of it they were both bruised and bloody, Sam sporting a split lip and Dean a nasty black eye.

Faye looked on with tears in her eyes as her child transformed into a violent, crazed stranger and attacked these strangers with brutal force. She didn't say anything when they finally tied him to a chair, but when Dean backed away from the possessed boy she did speak.

"You better hope he doesn't remember the cuss words that came out of your mouth after you get this thing out of him."

Sam snorted softly, then sobered almost instantly as the woman's words sunk in and he recalled the way his memories of his time under demonic influence were coming seeping back.

Once they had their breath back they checked over the boy's body for a mark that would mean the demon had bound itself to the boy, rendering it immune to the exorcism ritual they'd tried. Their search turned up nothing, and Dean was slightly glad, in a way. He remembered the way Bobby had broken the spell binding Meg to his brother, and the smell of burning flesh, the way he'd carefully rubbed burn cream on Sam's arm and dressed it afterwards. He'd hated that it had to be done to his brother; he had no desire to do it to a child.

Still, the situation had its' downside. They were now unsure how to proceed. Darkness was falling, and they untied the child and advised Faye to lock all the doors.

"We'll be back first thing in the morning." Sam promised.

"We're going to spend the night getting in touch with our contacts, people who know more about this than us." Dean assured her. "If there's a way to get that son of a bitch out, we'll find it."

Faye nodded, tight lipped, and walked them to the door, locking it behind them and leaving Digger to escort them to the car.

"_If_ there's a way, Dean?" Sam hadn't spoken since they left the house, and now they were entering the town again, on the lookout for a motel. Dean glanced over at his brother, taking in Sam's tight lips, the way he wouldn't meet Dean's eye.

This was what he'd been afraid of. Sam was way too involved in this case. But Dean had said yes against his better judgment, and it was too late to back out now.

"We'll find a way, Sam." He assured his brother, his voice gentle, the way it had been when he found Sam in that motel room after the demon controlling him killed Steve Wanell.

* * *

Things go from bad to worse.

Dean wakes in the middle of the night because he hears something out of place; he is a light sleeper at the best of times. He's had to be.

He lies still for a moment, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness, his senses straining to pick out what it is that is wrong.

Then he hears it again, a soft footfall, and his eyes swivel instantly to the part of the room the sound is coming from, which happens to be the door. His first thought is that someone is trying to get in, but his eyes fall on a familiar figure and he realizes someone is trying to get out.

Sam.

_Not this shit again_, he thinks, fear and anger building in his chest as he rises from the bed. Sam is fumbling with the latch and chain on the door, and has walked through the ring of salt Dean laid earlier, breaking the circle and rendering it useless. Dean thinks he must be trying to run off again, that Sam must be having another crisis of faith or trust or whatever it is that drives him away from his brother.

"Sam." Dean says loudly from beside the bed, flicking on the lamp on the table beside him. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Leaving." Sam says softly, almost sleepily, and Dean rolls his eyes and strides towards his brother, reaching for his arm.

"Yeah, because that's turned out so fucking well the last two times you tried it." He growls, catching hold of Sam just below the elbow.

His brother's movements are lethargic, slow, as if he's moving through water. "Sam, what the fuck?" Dean is swearing a lot and speaking impatiently because he's so damn tired, this last week has been exhausting, and Sam pulling this shit in the middle of the night is the last thing he needs right now.

He pulls Sam toward him and sees his face and then suddenly he realizes something.

"Shit. This is new." He mumbles, because Sam is asleep. He's sleep walking and he hasn't done that, as far as Dean knows, since he was five years old and even then he only did it twice, both times when he was pretty sick.

He remembers Dad telling him that you have to be gentle with sleepwalkers, that you should try and get them back to bed without waking them up, and he is about to attempt this when a car backfires loudly right outside the door. The noise is loud enough to scare the shit out of Dean and he swears loudly, letting go of Sam's arm.

Sam suddenly finds himself blinking wearily at an unfamiliar door; slivers of moonlight are bathing him and the carpet and the lock and chain, which are undone, and making his hand look pale and silver where it rests on the door knob. Confusion floods his brain, and he is unable to understand what is going on. Wasn't he in bed, asleep? That's the last thing he remembers, lying in bed, falling asleep…where is he now?

Suddenly icy cold fear seeps through him, leeching him of strength and making his hand on the doorknob tremble. _Don't let it be happening again, God, it's happened again, hasn't it_? He thinks, panicking, wondering how long he's been gone for this time, where he is, what he's done. Who he's killed.

A whimper escapes his throat, and he feels a touch on his back, and reacts instantly, whirling to face this unknown danger, swinging a wild punch.

"No, no no no." Dean speaks quickly, catching his brother by the wrist, making his voice calm and soothing. "Sammy, it's just me. It's just me."

"Dean…what…" Sam's voice trembles, and Dean rubs his free hand up and down Sam's arm, trying to comfort him.

"Shhh. You're okay. You're okay."

"What happened? Did I…did I hurt anyone?" Sam sounds close to tears, and he reaches out one shaky hand, stopping just in front of Dean's chest. "Did I hurt you?"

Dean realizes what Sam thinks has happened, and speaks quickly to reassure him. "No, Sammy, nothing like that. You were sleepwalking, buddy, that's all. That's all."

"Sleep…I was…" Sam looks back at the door, turns away from Dean, closing his fingers around the cold metal of the door knob again, trying to understand. His mind is still sleep foggy. "I was leaving?" He whispers, his voice full of fear and confusion.

Dean's fingers are on his now, gently prying them loose from the doorknob. "It's okay." His big brother's voice is a soft rumble near his ear. "Come on. You're not going anywhere."

Sam lets himself be led back to his bed, and sits down on the edge of it while Dean latches the door again and fixes up the salt.

"Dean, I don't want to leave." He says, his voice urgent and upset.

"I know." Dean comes over again and rubs a hand over the back of Sam's neck. "It's okay. I won't let anything happen." He sounds confident, reassuring, but deep down he feels the same cold fear he can hear in Sam's voice. He settles himself behind Sam, his back against the headboard, and reaches for his brother's shoulder. "Come here."

Sam obeys without protest, eagerly curling up next to him and lying his head against Dean's shoulder. Dean drapes one arm loosely around his shoulders and uses the other one to smooth blankets over him. "If you move, I'll wake up." He promises.

"I don't think I should sleep." Sam sounds tearful again, and Dean's pretty sure he can feel moisture against his shoulder. "Dean…I thought…"

"I know what you thought, Sammy." Dean runs his fingers through Sam's hair. "Not gonna happen. You have to sleep little brother. Hey. Trust me. I won't let anything happen to you." He strokes Sam's hair for a long time, until his wrist and fingers ache a little, and eventually his younger brother's breathing evens out and he nestles closer against Dean, sleeping almost peacefully.

It is a much longer time before Dean even closes his eyes.

* * *

They rang Bobby first, because he is something of an expert on demons and possession.

Dean made the phone call, wanting to shield Sam from any unnecessary conversation about the subject.

The younger Winchester sat on the edge of his bed and listened to his brother's side of the conversation impatiently.

When Dean hung up his brow was furrowed, and he rubbed his hand over his face the way he did when he was worried or uncomfortable.

"Bobby says if the exorcism didn't work, and there's no binding spell, chances are the demon is older and more powerful than the ones we've encountered before now." He bit his bottom lip for a moment, watching Sam carefully for his reaction. "He says he's only come across one of these sons of bitches once before."

"Well what did he do?" Sam asked impatiently.

"He couldn't do anything." Dean paced over to the kitchenette and started rummaging through the fridge. "He doesn't know of a way to exorcise them. The guy who was possessed…he died."

Sam frowned darkly. "Dean, Jordan's not going to die. We're not going to let him."

"Sam…"

"No! We have to find a way to help him, Dean!" Sam sounded angry and upset, and his puppy dog eyes were in overdrive.

Dean sighed and moved closer, leaning back against the small table in the centre of the room. "I know, Sam, okay? I'm not saying we should give up. I'm just telling you what Bobby said. He's going to ring around, see if he can find anything out that might help us. I'll ring Ellen and Ash as well, maybe even Missouri. We'll keep trying, okay?"

He wanted to reassure his brother, but he wasn't going to lie and promise that they'd find a way. The most he could guarantee was that he would try his hardest, and he did.


	4. A Deal With A Devil

_Hi again all! Sorry about the wait on this chapter…as I told you all at the beginning, this one is being posted as I write…I haven't finished it at all and am sort of working on it as I go. So I hope you all enjoy, and big thankyous to everyone who has already reviewed and inspired me to keep going…I love hearing from you! xoxo_

Dean is at the end of his tether.

He doesn't kid himself. Dean knows he is a strong person. He knows Sam looks up to him for this very reason, that he has his whole life. Not many four year olds could have coped with the death of their mother and the breakdown of their father the way Dean did. Not many small children could have shouldered the responsibility of a baby brother.

He holds it together when others are falling apart; it's what Dean does. He did it when their father died, in his own way, when their mother died, when Jess died. He's tried to be Sam's strength when his little brother had none of his own left, too many times to count. He doesn't worry about his own feelings often. He just soldiers on.

But this is too much for him, and suddenly he doesn't feel so strong anymore. He feels weary, beaten down, tired, so tired.

He thinks his movements must be lethargic, the way he feels, thinks his voice must be dull and emotionless and dead.

The hunt took a lot out of him as well, and Sam isn't the only one having nightmares.

Dean can feel himself breaking under the pressure, the need to help Sam, the futility of it all. He doesn't know how to help. He doesn't know what to do.

"Please, Sam, pull it together." He whispers to his brother's sleeping form, watching silvery moonlight play over his brother's weary face. "Please. I don't know how much longer I can do this." As soon as the words leave his mouth he feels instantly guilty, and selfish.

He wonders what this horrible aftermath is doing to them, and as much as he doesn't want to feel this way, as much as he hates himself for it, he can't help the tiny seed of resentment that is flowering in his deepest self.

Resentment at Sam, for being so…needy. Dean can't help but ask himself, why does he always have to be the strong one? He knows such thoughts are unfair and unworthy of the relationship he and his brother share, but he just can't help it.

When Sam whimpers in his sleep and comes awake with tears in his eyes, Dean strokes his hair just like he always does. Sam's hair is damp with sweat and when Dean lets his hand trail lower and rest on the side of Sam's neck he can feel his little brother trembling.

"It's okay," he murmurs, trying to soothe his baby brother, "It's okay." He wonders whether Sam can feel the difference in Dean's touch; hear the difference in his voice. It's not that Dean doesn't care anymore, or even that he cares less. He simply doesn't care with the intensity he once did, can't summon the strength to take care of his brother with the same determination he once had, not so very long ago.

He is tired, so tired. Tired of everything, including looking after Sam, but he knows he'll keep on doing it until he collapses from exhaustion.

He doesn't know how to do anything else.

When they returned to the house not more than fourteen hours had passed, but Sam thought Faye looked older and wearier already. There were dark shadows under her eyes, and she looked paler, worn down.

When she opened the door and saw who was standing there, her eyes lit up a little.

"You're back. I'm glad." She said huskily, reaching out and catching hold of Dean's sleeve, tugging him inside. Sam followed closely and she shut the door quickly and firmly behind them, as if afraid that they might leave again.

"What's going on?" Dean asked sharply, sensing immediately that something had changed overnight.

"That thing…" Faye shuddered a little, and Sam put a soothing hand on her arm. "It's not my son anymore." She finished miserably.

Sam and Dean exchanged glances and then started towards the stairs, Faye close on their heels. "You don't have to come with us, Faye." Sam said gently, halting.

"Yes I do." She said quietly. "What if somehow my son can see still, can hear? I don't want him to feel alone. I want him to know that his mum is here."

Dean found himself nodding before Sam could speak. "Good idea." He said gruffly, leading the way forward again. He was remembering the way he had felt once he realized that his little brother was possessed, how worried he'd been for Sam. Not just because he was possessed, and because of what the demon controlling his body might do to him, but because his little brother might feel alone and scared and frightened.

Dean was grateful that he always kept his leather jacket on as they reached the bedroom door. The temperature changed suddenly, dropping, the air around them cold and sharp. He reached out and laid a hand on the doorknob, and the metal was cold under his fingers.

Behind the door the thing that had once been Faye's son sat on the end of the bed, and when they entered it looked up and grinned, but there was no warmth or real happiness in the expression. It was cold and calculating and evil, and it made Sam shiver to see such a look on the face of a child.

"Back so soon?" It greeted them. There were bruises and scratches on Jordan's face and arms; and Dean wondered for a moment how they had gotten there. The child's skin was pale and sickly looking, almost grey, his hair lank and greasy. He was skinny, far too skinny, and Dean recalled Faye saying something about his refusal to eat.

His eyes were inky black, and Faye whispered from behind Dean, "His eyes are like that all the time now."

The thing that was once a child regarded the Winchesters for a moment, and Dean got the impression from its' coldly amused expression that it didn't need them to speak to know what they were thinking. "You're back already, and with no solution."

Faye looked from one to the other Winchester, her eyes pleading. "You can't help him?"

"We didn't say that." Sam said quickly. "We haven't found anything yet. We just need a little more time."

"Time?" The thing shook its' head sorrowfully at the three in front of it. "Time is something little Jordan here doesn't have."

Suddenly the grin disappeared, and the body on the bed sagged forward, the inky black fading away and leaving blue eyes filled with frightened tears. "Mummy," Jordan said hoarsely, wrapping his arms around his stomach and doubling over. "It hurts…"

"Jordie!" Faye rushed to her son's side and wrapped her arms around his sobbing form. "It's okay, baby, Mummy's here…"

"It hurts." The child wept weakly, looking up over his mother's shoulder at the Winchesters. "Please, make it stop…" He coughed weakly then through his tears, and bright blood spilled forth over his lips and stained his mother's shoulder.

"Shit." Dean muttered, horrified, and Sam moved forward to crouch near the frightened child.

"We're going to help you, Jordan. You just hang on, okay?"

The little boy sniffled and nodded weakly. "Okay."

Almost instantly his eyes turned black again and his expression cruel. "Get away from me, bitch." He said in a much stronger voice, and shoved Faye with supernatural strength. She flew across the room and slammed hard into the opposite wall, crying out in surprise and pain.

Sam straightened and moved warily away from the child while Dean helped Faye up.

"You're going to help him, are you, Sam?" The demon taunted. "And how, exactly, are you going to do that? You shouldn't lie to the kid, you know. Give him false hope. He's so scared, and in so much pain…"

"We will help him." Sam said through gritted teeth. "We're gonna send you back to hell where you belong, asshole."

The thing smiled, unconcerned. "No, you're not. You don't know how, and even if you could work it out, it would take you a lot longer than this kid has left to live. He's got some pretty nasty internal injuries."

Faye made a soft whimpering sound, and Dean squeezed her elbow in what he hoped was a reassuring manner.

"How about we make a deal?" The thing invited, and both Dean and Sam turned their heads towards it warily.

"What kind of a deal?" Sam spoke first, his voice cautious and suspicious. The incident with the crossroads demon was too fresh in both their minds for them to be anything but wary of the 'deals' these creatures could offer.

The 'child' smiled evilly, satisfied that it had their attention.

"This body has been…interesting." It shrugged, looking down at the bruised and bloody skin it inhabited. "But a child's body has its' limits. For that matter, so does any normal human body." It looked up again then, and its' eyes were smouldering. "But your body, Sam Winchester," and the desire and want in its' voice made Sam shudder, "Your body would be a whole different story."

In a heartbeat Dean had released his grip on Faye and crossed the room to stand in front of Sam, placing himself between the thing on the bed and his younger brother.

"Fuck off." He growled, his voice low with rage. "There's no way that's going to happen."

"Come on, Dean, you want to save Jordan too, right?" The thing coaxed. "I promise I'll leave his body and leave him alone. All Sam has to do is take off that charm he's wearing and let me possess him instead." It turned its' eyes back on the younger Winchester, and they were dark with greed. "The yellow-eyed demon isn't the only one interested in you and your powers, Sam."

Sam felt like he was going to throw up, and he could feel himself trembling.

"I can see you need some time to think about it. That's fine." The thing on the bed smiled cruelly. "I'll give you about twenty four hours. If you're not back, this time tomorrow morning, and without that little charm for protection…then it's over for Jordan. And it won't be quick. It won't be painless. Can you let a little boy die, Sam, when it's in your power to save him?"

"Shut the fuck up, you son of a bitch." Dean practically snarled, taking a step towards the bed, his fists clenching and unclenching in fury.

"You boys have a lot to talk about." The demon winked at them. "I'll see you in the morning."

As it spoke the Winchesters and Faye found themselves flung backwards by an invisible force, tossed out the door and it slammed, hard, behind them, locking them in the corridor.


	5. Not That Simple

_A day off work means I can get some writing done…I've enjoyed a relaxing morning writing this chapter, so I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I've enjoyed writing it. Thanks to those who've already left reviews, and hope this nice quick update makes up for the long wait between the last ones!_

When Dean does sleep, which isn't very often, he sleeps on the arm chair he has pulled over next to the bed, and he keeps a hand resting on some part of Sam's body, so that if his brother sleepwalks again he'll know and wake up.

He is dozing lightly when he feels Sam stirring, when the warmth of his brother's shoulder beneath his hand is withdrawn as Sam moves away.

Dean comes awake with a series of blinks and a tired yawn, his body protesting the withdrawal of the reprieve only sleep offers him.

Sam is sitting up on the other side of the bed, his legs over the side, his shoulders slumped dejectedly. Dean reaches for him, intending to guide him back to bed gently, but when his hand brushes Sam's shoulder his little brother speaks.

"I'm awake." His voice is quiet and exhausted.

Dean lets his hand rest on Sam's back. "Are you okay?"

"No." Sam says, after a long moment.

"What's wrong?"

"Everything." Sam sounds so tired and helpless.

Dean searches his brain, his big brother instincts, for a way to make this better, for a way to help his broken, breaking brother. He wonders how much more Sam can break and whether he can ever be put back together again.

"Lie back down." He says at last, his voice soft, and Sam swings his legs back up and obeys without comment, lying on his side with his back to Dean.

Dean gets up from the chair and lies down next to him, his chest to Sam's back, and wraps one arm around his brother, drawing Sam gently back until he is resting against his older brother's form. "It used to make you feel better if I slept with you, when you were little." He says softly, Sam's hair baby soft and silky against his face.

"It's not that simple anymore, Dean." Sam sounds close to tears. "I wish it was."

"I wish it was too, buddy." Dean turns his head so that his cheek is pillowed against Sam's hair. "I wish there was something I could do to make you feel better, Sammy."

Sam breaks a little more; he is crying quietly now, Dean can feel the little tremors shaking his body and he holds his baby brother a bit tighter, trying to absorb the movements. Sam doesn't say anything, and for a second Dean wonders if his presence helps at all; if his younger brother is able to draw any comfort or strength or whether Dean is even more useless than he feels right now.

Then Sam rolls over in his embrace, shifting until he can bury his face in Dean's chest and cling to his older brother's shirt with trembling hands. He sobs out his big brother's name, "De-ean," and it's broken and desperate and so full of need that all Dean's doubts disappear instantly.

"I'm here, I've got you," he coos, and he holds as much of his brother's trembling, sobbing form as he can in his arms and makes soft noises of comfort.

Sam shakes and sobs and burrows closer but through all the fear and despair and misery he can still feel Dean, all strong tight arms and warm firm chest and rumbling comforting voice. He's here and he's strong and he's _Dean_ and he keeps Sam together, no matter how much Sam wants to break.

For a few seconds the three of them lay sprawled in individual heaps on the floor, slightly stunned by the violence of their impact.

Dean was the first to move, pulling himself up slowly with a grumbled, "Son of a…" He looked around at the other two, to make sure no one was hurt. "Everyone okay?"

"Fine." Faye was stoic, using the wall for support as she climbed to her own feet. Dean turned his gaze to his brother, who was standing near the stairwell, but had given no verbal indication yet of his well being.

"Sam?" Dean asked, a little sharply. "Are you hurt?"

Sam's eyes rose to meet his and he shook his head mutely before looking away quickly. Dean didn't press the issue, not wanting to encourage conversation between himself and his brother anymore than was strictly necessary. He was aware of what the next conversation between them was going to be about, and he was also aware of the fact that he was going to have to do some serious ass kicking. There was no way that Sam would balk at the demon's offer. His little brother was nothing if not a martyr, and he wouldn't consider leaving an innocent child to suffer when there was a possibility that he could save him.

Even if it was at the cost of his own life.

Dean swore mentally and refrained from kicking the wall, his temper and frustration mounting rapidly at the situation they found themselves in. He should have gone with his first instinct. He should never have agreed to this job.

His self-berating thoughts were interrupted by Faye's voice, shaken but still strong. "Let's go downstairs. I could use a drink."

The Winchesters followed the woman down the stairs of the house and into the kitchen, where she poured three glasses of straight whiskey and took a large swallow of hers instantly.

Dean drained the glass in one go and thumped it back down on the table, scrubbing a hand over his face, a habit he had when anxious or frustrated.

Sam didn't touch his drink, but stood at the end of the counter in silence.

"All right." Dean spoke, without really knowing what he was going to say. "All right, so we've got twenty-four hours to figure out what to do here."

Faye looked at him over the breakfast bench, her expression unreadable. "It's made an offer." She pointed out, and even though her tone was emotionless Dean's temper flared again immediately.

"That is not even an option!" He ground out, reaching again for the whiskey bottle and helping himself to a generous amount.

"Why not?" Faye's voice was quiet and calm. "Look, I know what you're thinking. That it's selfish of me to want to sacrifice your brother to save my son, and I'm the first to admit, hell yeah it is. But Jordan's just a little boy. Sam is a grown man, a hunter. He can fight it better than Jordie can. It'll buy us some time, and Dean, you can figure out how to exorcise it. It doesn't want to kill Sam. It wants to kill Jordan." She turned pleading eyes on Sam, and Dean just kept his glare on her, because he couldn't look at his brother, knew exactly what Sam was thinking, what he was probably about to say. "Please." She said softly to Sam. "You said you'd help him. He's just a little boy."

Out of the corner of his eye Dean saw Sam move; heard him make a sound, but before his brother could say or do anything stupid Dean was rising to his feet, raising his voice so that he had everyone's attention.

"Sam, shut up. Go get in the car. Now." His eyes were still trained on Faye, and her gaze came back to his at the anger and command in his tone. They were brimming with tears and Dean could see how scared and exhausted she was, and despite what she was asking his brother to do, he couldn't find it in him to hate her for it. "I know you want to save your son, and so do we." He told her, his voice harsh, because he would never, ever let anything endanger his brother, no matter what the reasons. "But we are not going to do it that way. End of story. We're leaving now, and we're going to keep looking for a way to help Jordan. We'll be back in the morning."

Faye bowed her head in resignation, her tears spilling over onto her cheeks, and it was even harder to watch her break because in the short time they'd known her Dean had come to realize that she didn't break or even bend very often. She was a strong woman, and he respected her, and he understood her and her love for her family, but there was no way he could do what she was asking.

Sam had made it to the door at Dean's order but was hesitating there, half turned back towards the weeping woman. Dean shoved him from behind. "Get going."

Sam obeyed silently, and Dean didn't stop to wonder where this unusual behavior was coming from, he was simply thankful. He followed slightly behind Sam the entire way to the car, keeping his gaze firmly on Sam's back, just to make sure his brother didn't do anything stupid.


	6. Fear

_Hello everyone! Yes, I'm still here, still working…SLOWLY…on this story, and I'm trying my hardest to get it done. A big thankyou to everyone who has PM'd me and encouraged me to finish this or at least keep going, I hope this chapter is okay…it's fairly long and angsty! Hopefully I'll update sooner and with more regularity from now on! I'm looking forward to hearing from you all again!_

They were staying in a motel like a million others; small and run down and out of the way, a place where not many questions were asked and the rates were low.

Dean pulled into the car park and turned off the ignition. He wanted to stay sitting there, wanted to lean forward and bang his head against the steering wheel in pure frustration at the fucked up situation they were in. Sam shifted beside him, restlessly, and Dean started to turn towards him to tell him to grab his shit and get inside, to growl or snap at his younger brother, anything to cut off the self sacrificing speech he was sure was coming.

He'd been expecting it the whole drive home, but there had been only silence, and Dean was pretty sure that was simply the calm before the storm. Sam being Sam was probably building up his case in his head, preparing his arguments in preparation for the head to head battle with his older brother to come.

Dean was tired, and sick of this shit. Did every demon who came crawling out of hell and landed on this damned planet have to have it in store for his little brother? It appeared so, and hearing confirmation of it had only made his day a million times shittier than it had been when he woke up. He was not in the mood to argue with Sam over this.

So he turned towards Sam, ready to stop the conversation before it began, but Sam made a strange sound and suddenly was all but bolting from the car; leaving the Impala door open in his wake and heading for the door to their room faster than Dean had seen him move in weeks.

"What the…" Dean muttered, opening his own door and following in his brother's wake, pausing to shut the door Sam had left open in his rush.

As he came up behind his brother, he saw that Sam was fumbling with the room key, his usual graceful fingers clumsy and awkward, and although he wasn't keeping his hands still long enough for Dean to be certain he was pretty sure his brother's hands were shaking.

He had his back to Dean and his head bowed to look at the keys, but Dean's big brother instincts were finely tuned, and he didn't need to see Sam's face to know that something was wrong.

"Sam?" He asked, concern lacing his tone, and he reached out with one hand to touch his brother's shoulder.

Sam flinched at the touch, and Dean was right, he could feel Sam trembling under his fingers. Although it was raining and wet, it wasn't that cold, and Dean felt his concern mount. Sam didn't answer or look at his older brother, but he dropped the keys as he fumbled, and made a quiet noise. Dean wouldn't have liked to pick whether the noise was of frustration or desperation.

"Hey. Sam." He tightened his grip on his brother's shoulder and turned Sam a little, trying to make his brother face him. "What's wrong?"

He was standing so close to his brother that Sam didn't have very far to reach, but reach he did and curled the fingers of one shaking hand into the damp material of Dean's shirt.

"Dean. I just want to go inside, please." He whispered, and his voice was shaky too.

"Okay, kiddo." Automatically Dean's voice was softer, gentler. "Let me get the door, okay?"

He tried to step around Sam and bend down to retrieve the keys from the pooling water on the step, but Sam's grip on his shirt restricted his movement. "Sam." It was just one word, but he made his voice as reassuring and comforting as he could, while he gently untangled his little brother's fingers. Sam let himself be persuaded to let go, but didn't back away to give Dean room to manouevere. Dean bit back any impatient, snarky comment he might be tempted to make. Sam didn't act this way often. Something was obviously wrong.

As he turned the key in the lock and pushed the door open, Sam nudged past him and into the room, making his way straight to his bed and then turning when he reached it so that his legs were against the frame and he was facing the room and the still open door. Dean was reminded of a frightened animal that puts its' back against something to protect itself from attack.

"Sam, what's going on?"

"Can you close the door, please?" Sam's voice was stronger, but there was still a quiver there Dean didn't like hearing, and he closed the door and locked it in an attempt to banish it.

He turned back to face his brother, his eyes narrowing as he took in the pallor of Sam's skin, the way the younger man was hugging his arms around himself, whether for comfort or warmth Dean wasn't sure. In their line of work he had become a bit of an expert on body language, and he knew that when someone hugged themselves it was often a sign that they were uncomfortable or scared; a subconscious gesture of self protection.

Sam was avoiding Dean's penetrating gaze; but that didn't mean that he was unaware of it. Feeling his brother's eyes studying him, he sunk down onto the bed, still hugging his arms around himself, staring down at the stained motel carpet.

Dean moved towards him then, and Sam heard the soft jingle of keys as Dean deposited them on the bedside table. Out of the corner of his eye Sam was dimly aware of Dean shrugging out of his faded leather jacket and discarding it on the end of his own bed before he sank down onto the frame, sitting himself down opposite his younger brother.

Unsure of how to proceed, Dean waited, hoping that maybe Sam would start talking first. He was unsure exactly what is was that had Sam so…what? His brows furrowed as he studied his brother, trying to figure out exactly what was going on here.

The best word he could find to describe Sam at the moment was spooked. The trembling, the protective body language, the quiet, wet desperation in his big brown eyes…it dawned on Dean in a flash, Sam was afraid. There was a quiet, desperate fear radiating from every line of his body, where Dean had expected stubbornness, determination to take the demon up on its' offer.

Caught off guard, he would have to modify his reaction accordingly.

He realized that they had been sitting there in silence for longer than he'd intended; and it was becoming apparent that Sam was not going to talk first, was not going to offer up any insight into the way he was feeling and acting. In fact the opposite seemed to be happening; the longer he sat, the more Sam seemed to be withdrawing into his silent, scared shell.

Dean rose from the bed, scrubbing his hands over the legs of his jeans absently, and paused in front of his brother, still uncertain how to proceed. When Sam didn't react at all to his brother's change in position, Dean paced over to the small fridge in the kitchenette, stalling for time.

He retrieved a bottle of water and twisted off the lid, taking a long swig himself before carrying the bottle back over to where his younger brother still sat, still in the same position Dean had left him in. Positioning himself in front of Sam, the older Winchester held out the water bottle, making sure he was close enough to his sibling so that Sam could no longer ignore his presence.

"Here. Have a drink." He offered, more to break the silence than from the need to say anything.

For a moment he thought Sam would ignore him, but his younger brother slowly uncurled himself and reached for the water bottle with trembling fingers, and Dean kept hold of it a second longer than was necessary to make sure he wouldn't drop or spill it.

Once he let go of the bottle, Sam didn't lift it to his mouth to take a drink, only let his arm lower back to its' original position, curled across his stomach, and the water in the bottle quivered slightly, giving away the fact that the younger Winchester was still shaking.

"Sam." Dean sunk back down onto the bed opposite his brother, leaning forward slightly to try and get Sam's attention.

The wet, frightened eyes didn't look at him, though, but stayed focused on the carpet as though finding something fascinating there.

Dean wasn't one for touchy-feely stuff, but something was very wrong here, very wrong with Sam, his Sammy, his little brother, and if a chick flick moment was what was required to get to the bottom of it then that was what Dean would do. Because, let's face it, when it came to Sam there was very little _(nothing)_ that Dean wouldn't do.

The older Winchester reached out and slid his fingers gently under Sam's chin, forcing his brother to lift his gaze from the carpet. "Sammy." He said again, softer, and the pet name and the touch combined to entice the younger a little way out of his almost catatonic state; to raise his wet, wide eyes to meet Dean's.

His older brother's familiar hazel eyes gazed back at him, filled with concern and comfort. There was no urgency there; no distress, and in the calmness of that familiar gaze Sam drew immediate strength, felt a little more grounded. That look Dean was giving him was the same look he'd met for years, for his whole life, and it said, "It's okay. I'm here. You're safe with me."

Sam drew in a shaky breath, suddenly feeling as if he could breathe again, and uncurled a little on the bed, reaching out a hand to give Dean's knee a grateful, reassuring pat. A silent thank you, and assurance that he was okay.

Dean let go of his chin, but stayed leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

"Want to tell me what all that was about?" He asked, his voice still soft, so as not to spook his slightly recovered brother.

Sam mimicked his brother's position, belatedly raising the water bottle to his lips and taking a few small swallows, and Dean smiled inwardly at the familiar method of stalling for time before speaking.

When the water was no longer a buyable excuse, Sam took to chewing at his lower lip absently, his eyes once again on the carpet, and Dean had to prompt him again, determined to stop any backsliding on Sam's behalf.

"Hey." Sam looked up at him again, and Dean saw that the fear was still there, only not as fierce as before. "What's going on in that head of yours?"

Sam wanted to answer, wanted to let his brother in, but it wasn't that easy. He didn't know where to start, or even how to articulate the jumbled mass of panicked thoughts swirling around in his head.

"Sam, you have to talk to me." Dean's voice again, interrupting his thoughts, drawing him back to reality and grounding him. Sam looked at him helplessly, his eyes expressing his inability to explain his silence. Dean studied him back thoughtfully, then spoke again. "Something's got you scared, huh?"

Lowering his eyes again, Sam nodded slightly. "Yeah."

Encouraged by the sound of his brother's voice, finally, Dean leaned forward more, letting Sam know that he was there, that he wasn't going anywhere, and that if Sam associated Dean's proximity with safety then he had nothing to fear.

He was rewarded with the sound of Sam's voice, still quieter than it should have been, still not entirely steady, but audible. "Dean…what that demon said…what it wants…"

Dean spoke quickly, his voice loud and sure, cutting over Sam's softer one. "No, Sam. No way. Not going to happen. I don't even want to argue with you over this."

He waited for Sam's reaction, for the argument he was sure would come but that he was equally determined to rebuff as quickly as he could. But Sam's voice, when he spoke again, was still shaky, still uncertain. "I'm not going to argue."

"Good." Dean said firmly, roughly, but stopped when he saw the brightness of Sam's eyes, the sparkle of unshed tears. "Sam," he sighed, his voice softer this time in response to his little brother's misery, "We can't, okay? You can't. I know you think it's the right thing to do, I know you want to help Jordan, but that is not the answer, okay? We can't risk it."

"That's just it, Dean." Sam had re-wrapped his arms around himself, had curled over and in the dim light he looked very young. "I don't want to…I can't…" Then suddenly the situation was out of Dean's tenuous control, and tears were slipping down his little brother's cheeks. Sam was speaking through his sobs, his voice shaky, and Dean found himself rising quickly, resettling next to Sam on the bed, wrapping an arm around his shoulders in a desperate attempt to stop the offending tears.

Sam turned into him, a rarity which shocked and surprised Dean, and suddenly he knew this was bad, because Sam hadn't even accepted any sort of comfort after everything that had happened with Meg…

And suddenly it all made sense, and the words Sam was sobbing became clear, and some of them were, "I can't Dean, I can't, I'd rather leave and leave Jordan like that than do what it wants, I can't, I just can't, not again, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…"

Dean shook his head, hard, and brought a hand up to press Sam's head roughly against his shoulder, aware of how hard Sam was clutching at his big brother's shirt.

"Sam, it's okay." He said, firmly, letting his little brother cling, and feeling a guilty pang of relief that Sam felt this way, the opposite of what Dean had thought he would. "It's okay, it's okay. I wouldn't let you do that, anyway. We're not doing it that way, Sam, it's okay. We're not doing it that way. You don't have to be sorry. Sam, there's nothing to be sorry for. It's okay. It's okay."

As his brother's tears slowly died away, Dean realized that ridding Jordan of the demon inside him was not their only, or even their biggest problem.

Sam was obviously still suffering from the after affects of his possession, suffering in a big way, and now not only did they have a hunt to finish and a little boy to save, it looked like Dean had a little brother who was desperately in need of fixing.


	7. Healing and Hurting

_Hooray! Another chapter! I'm trying to get this out now, to get it finished for all you wonderful people who've been so patient and waited so long…any feedback is, as always, appreciated…so here we go, another dose of angst! Thanks again everyone…it's fun to be interacting with you all again! Xoxo_

Dean watches Sam as he sits at the kitchen table; poking listlessly at the food his big brother has prepared, his expression exhausted and not interested.

"Let me guess. You're not hungry." Dean breaks the silence; just as he always does these days. Sam isn't one for speaking anymore, he is quiet in a way he's never been. Ever since he could talk he was always asking questions, always babbling away, and Dean, who has wished countless times for this silence, finds that now his wish has been granted it's not so great after all.

Sam looks up at him from weary eyes, a guilty, apologetic expression on his face. "Not really," he confirms, hoarsely, and Dean thinks his voice is probably getting that way from lack of use. "Sorry." He adds, miserably, his eyes falling back to his plate, and Dean moves quickly to ward off any potential escalation of the situation.

"Don't worry about it. I'm a pretty lousy cook, anyway." He quips, keeping his voice light, scooping up the barely touched plate and carrying it over to the sink.

"You make good Lucky Charms." Dean turns, surprised and startled to hear Sam offer anything extra, and his heart soars like a damn girl's when he sees just the tiniest of smiles on Sam's pale face.

"Lucky Charms are a cereal, Sam." He points out, keeping the sarcasm very, very light. "That's not exactly a compliment."

Sam offers him a smile that is almost real; almost complete. "You always made them right. Dad put too much cereal, not enough milk."

"You like it when there's some milk left over for you to drink after all the cereal's gone. You like the taste of the milk, all sugary and sweet." Dean says automatically, and Sam's smile is suddenly there, thank God, it's there, after weeks of being in hiding, and dammit Dean's eyes are prickling and he has to turn away and busy himself with scraping off the plate but he was starting to think he'd never see his little brother smile again.

And then Sam says something that's so completely Sam, so the way he was…before…before all this. "I'm sorry about the way I've been. I know it's been hard for you, Dean." His voice is quiet and Dean turns, sees his little brother looking down at the table, only the expression on his face isn't completely miserable, only wistful.

"Does this mean you're feeling better?" Dean asks, not wanting to push, hardly daring to hope, but the words are out before he can stop them.

Sam offers him a small, tentative smile. "I'm starting to." He says, and Dean is across the room in an instant, and he doesn't even care that Sam probably saw that one tear that escaped before he's standing next to his brother and pulling him against him so that Sam's head is laying on his chest.

"Good." He says, and his voice is shaky with relief as Sam leans into the impromptu embrace, and he cards his fingers through his little brother's hair. "That's…that's so good, Sammy."

That's all he can say, but it's so much more, it's so much better than good because here, in these last few precious minutes, he's caught a glimpse of his Sammy again, his little brother, his baby who he'd begun to think was to lost and broken to ever find or be fixed, and that's so much damn better than good, it's more than great, it's probably the best thing that's ever happened, or it feels that way right now.

* * *

Dean rarely needed an alarm to wake him in the mornings; it was more out of habit and for show that he set it and groaned at its' shrill reminder to rise.

The morning after Sam's little break down, after the demon's offer, he was up with the sun, moving quietly around the small motel room to make himself a cup of coffee.

Steaming mug in hand, he crossed to stand beside his brother's bed and look down on him, his big brother instincts making him want to check that Sam was okay.

The younger Winchester was sleeping soundly, a little paler than normal, but other than that okay. Apparently the stress of yesterday had taken its' toll and he was finding some much needed solace in sleep.

Dean let his hand brush feather-light over his sleeping brother's hair, moving the stray bangs that made Sam look years younger off his face and back towards the pillow. Satisfied that his brother was fine, for the moment, he let himself out the front door and quietly into the car park, taking his strong black mug of coffee with him.

The dawn air was crisp and cool, perfect for waking up and sharpening one's senses, and Dean leant comfortable against the hood of the Impala and nursed the warm mug in one hand, the other tucked into the pocket of his jacket.

To the casual observer he would have looked relaxed; a motel guest simply enjoying a coffee and the rising of the sun, which was a pleasant sight; the air lighting with a pinkish glow as the golden orb moved slowly from its' resting place below the horizon.

One who knew him well, however, would be able to read the slight stiffness of the soldiers, the soft clouding of hazel eyes as the big brother in him worried about how to fix Sam and the hunter in him pondered how to finish the job.

No ready answers sprung to mind; no easy solution to either problem, and his thoughts went around in circles as his coffee supply dwindled and the first birds started their morning songs.

He was no closer to an epiphany when the motel room door opened and the object of his concern slipped out, and Dean didn't miss the way Sam's eyes darted almost wildly to the Impala, the intensity in them only fading when they fell on the familiar form of his big brother. He inwardly berated himself for leaving Sam to wake up alone; knowing now as he did that Sam was scared and drawing comfort from his presence.

What was done was done, though, and the mistake was already made, and he stayed leaning against the Impala as Sam made his way slowly over and leant beside him.

"Hey." Dean kept his voice neutral, kept his eyes on the colourful sunrise as his younger brother joined him.

"Hey." Sam's voice was tired, and Dean shifted almost imperceptibly; moving ever so slightly so that they were touching; his shoulder brushing against Sam's in a silent offer of warmth and whatever strength or comfort his brother could take.

They were silent for a while then, but they had traveled together and known each other long and well enough that it was comfortable.

Sam was the first to speak. "Sorry about last night."

"Which part?" Dean joked gently. "The bit where you gave me the silent treatment, or the part where you cried like a little girl? Both Oscar-worthy performances, by the way."

"Shut up, jerk." The slightest smile played over Sam's lips and he butted at his brother lightly with his shoulder, but didn't move away afterwards, leaning ever so slightly against Dean.

"You don't have to be sorry, Sam." Dean kept his eyes ahead and his voice light, but his tone was serious now, his shoulder warm and solid. Sam stayed silent, ducking his head a little. "And you don't have to feel guilty, either." His big brother added, turning his head just a little so that he was watching his brother.

Still there was no reaction, and Dean nudged him gently with his elbow after a few moments of silence. "Hey. Talk to me."

"I don't know what to say." Sam scuffled his sneaker in the dirt, keeping his eyes downcast. "I do feel sorry. And I do feel guilty. If it were you or Dad, you'd do it, Dean, you know you would."

"There's no way of knowing that, Sam, and it wouldn't be the same thing." Dean contradicted quietly. "No one except that demon is asking that of you. No one expects it of you, and you shouldn't expect it of yourself. Not to mention there's no damn way I'd let you, anyway."

"It could be the only way to save Jordan." Sam all but whispered.

"Look at it this way, it would be a stupid move, Sam. It's what the demon wants, and with your…powers…it would be irresponsible, kiddo." The pet name softened the blow that came from acknowledging Sam's differences.

"We've already seen what it can do with my training." Sam said, barely audibly, his mind on the hunter he…Meg…had killed only weeks earlier.

Dean didn't acknowledge that one, only pressed his shoulder a little more firmly against Sam's, and after a moment was rewarded by feeling a little more of his brother's weight shift onto him, as Sam leant against him minutely more.

"I just…it was…" Sam fell silent, and Dean could almost feel him struggling with his emotions, with the words he wanted to say, and much as he wanted to help he stayed silent, knowing this was the best way to encourage Sam to open up about the experience he didn't talk about. "It was horrible, Dean, it was scary and I felt so…helpless and…and frightened, and violated…and I just don't think…I can't go through that again." The last part was said almost desperately, a little shudder running through him, and Dean shifted so that his arm was resting behind Sam, not wrapped around him exactly but resting there, where Sam could feel it.

"You don't have to. You're not going to. I promise." The words were quiet and calm, a simple fact stated softly.

"I just don't feel like I'm doing enough, Dean." He confessed quietly after another short period of silence.

"You are, Sam." Dean assured him quietly. "You're doing all you can, we're doing all we can, and we're going to keep doing it."

"And if it's not enough?" Sam asked in a small, tired voice.

"Then it won't be your fault." His brother said softly, firmly. "It won't be your fault and I won't watch you blame yourself because you didn't let yourself get possessed. Understand me?" The words were firm but the tone was gentle and Sam responded to both, nodding slowly.

"Okay."

"Say it." Dean pushed quietly, and Sam almost smiled.

"Dean."

"Just say it, Sam."

"It won't be my fault."

Dean nodded. "Good. Now work on believing it."

Sam breathed out softly beside him, not quite a sigh, and nodded softly. The sun was almost entirely up now, and Dean nudged his younger brother again.

"Okay, Princess. Enough manly bonding time. Time to get this show on the road, huh? Time for some action."

They rose together, pushing away from the hood of the Impala almost as one, and even after Dean moved away to lead the way inside Sam could still feel the warmth where his solid presence had been.

* * *

Dean knows that it is what they saw, what they witnessed, that last day at Faye's farmhouse which is the root of Sam's breakdown; the catalyst for the rapid decline his brother is suffering through.

He wishes he went there himself; wishes that he insisted Sam stay at the motel, safe and sound and ignorant of the climax the whole thing was about to reach, and when Dean returned he could have sugar coated it or even lied, anything to protect his baby brother and prevent him from coming this shaking, scared shell of his former self.

But it is too late now, too late to change what is done, what happened, and what happened is that they went there, together, to try and fix things, to try and finish the job and find a way out of the mess they were in.

Instead, they found the opposite, and in true Winchester style, the mess only grew worse.


	8. The Hunt

_Wow. I think it may have been months and months since I updated this thing. So, maybe no one wants to read it anymore, lol, but I needed to get it out!! I hate having things half finished! So, finally, the chapter where you readers get to find out what went so horribly wrong on the hunt and screwed the boys (specially Sam) up so much. If you read, thanks for your patience! xx_

The Impala rolled to a slow, smooth stop, the crunch of its' tyres over the white gravel driveway slightly familiar now after days of visiting Faye and her 'son'.

The Impala rolled to a slow, smooth stop, the crunch of its' tyres over the white gravel driveway slightly familiar now after days of visiting Faye and her 'son'. Dean turned the car off and withdrew the key from the ignition, and turned a calm, hazel-eyed stare on his younger brother.

"So we're completely clear on the situation and how we're going to handle it."

Sam gave a sigh that was only slightly frustrated, and more fond. "Yes, Dean."

"There won't be a sudden crisis of conscience once we're in there, a sudden suicidal desire to sacrifice yourself?"

Sam shook his head, rolling his eyes only slightly. "No. Nothing like that. Come on, let's get this over with."

Dean mimicked his brother's movements; unfolding himself from the car, stopping to lean slightly over the roof and study his sibling.

Later he would remember this moment and wonder about it; wonder why they had both stopped, both hesitated, and although there were some things Dean doubted, he wondered if this was some strange sort of premonition.

He couldn't remember what it was he was about to say to Sam; because whatever the words were, they were halted by the expression on his younger brother's face.

Sam was looking past him, over his shoulder towards the house, and what began as a slight, confused furrow between his brows quickly turned to a wide-eyed expression of horror.

"Sooty," Sam said, darting around the car and towards the house, leaving Dean to turn after him, slightly bemused.

"Sooty?" The older Winchester repeated, then his eyes fell on the black shape huddled on the driveway, and his mind caught up. The mutt.

He followed his brother's footsteps, to where Sam was already crouched in the dirt beside the dog, who was whimpering softly.

As he got closer he saw the red stains on the white dirt, and his eyes followed the trail to the dog; to the horrible wound in its' side, and he swore softly, averting his eyes.

The dog was licking Sam's hand now, pathetically eager for his touch, and Dean felt like a real bastard as he said softly, "Sam, there's nothing we can do."

"Couldn't we take him to a vet?" Sam asked hopefully, his hand smoothing the hair on the dog's head, but even as he spoke the animal gave another, louder whimper, twitched, then stilled.

"Too late for that." Dean pulled on his brother's sleeve, not ungently. He, too, was distressed by the sudden, violent death of the animal, but his hunter's instincts were over riding his personal feelings, and they told him, with a tingle in his stomach, a heightening of his senses, that something was going down. Something bad.

Sam straightened obediently to the tug on his sleeve, his eyes going now towards the whitewashed farmhouse ahead of them. "This is bad, Dean."

"It's been bad from the beginning." Dean said grimly, turning back towards the car. "I'm going to grab our stuff, our weapons."

He had only taken two steps away from his younger brother when the screaming started. It tore through the air violently, shattering the silence without warning, making Sam start and Dean swear, and then it all happened too fast. Dean heard the sound of gravel crunching beneath feet, saw out of the corner of his eye that Sam was dashing towards the house, following the scream, weaponless, defenceless.

"Sam!" He barked, trying to make his voice all authority and order, trying to make it the way his father would have spoken to Sam so that the younger would stop, obey, but it came out concerned, all Dean and no John and Sam just kept running.

Of course Dean's first instinct was to follow, to be ahead of his little brother and protect him from whatever waited inside that house, but his mind was ahead of him, adding things up and knowing that if he followed without any kind of weapon he would be just as defenceless as his brother.

It only took seconds to yank open the trunk and grab what he needed; holy water, sawn off, tattered book of exorcisms recommended by Bobby. But those seconds were precious, and too many. Too much time with Sam not by his side, with Sam inside, with Sam in danger and Dean not able to protect him.

He was running towards the house now, following his brother's footsteps, and the screaming had stopped, so there was nothing for him to follow.

"Sam!" Hoping for some kind of guidance from his brother, but met by only silence.

His heart beat faster and his head grew lighter with each empty room, and the knowledge that it was Sam the demon wanted chilled him with every step.

Dean's hold on any last vestige of calm was starting to drain away into full blown panic when he heard another scream, fainter this time. His brain connected the dots as his eyes fell on the open window ahead of him, curtains rustling lightly in the warm summer breeze.

The barn, not the house.

He had leapt through the window before he even realised it, was racing towards the barn, was yanking open the door and calling his brother's name, his voice all urgency and fear and desperation.

"Sam?"

"Oh look, Sammy, here's Dean." It was darker in the barn, and his eyes were having trouble adjusting to the light, but he recognised the little boy's voice coming from somewhere beyond him in the darkness.

"Sam!" Dean repeated, staying by the door, the sawn off cocked and held ready. His eyes were slowly becoming accustomed to the gloom, and he could begin to make out figures.

The boy spoke again, and Dean's eyes were drawn to him. "Sam, aren't you paying attention? Your big brother's here." The child's voice was excited, like Dean was a playmate he'd been waiting for. "Don't you want to show him what you've done?"

Dean heard a ragged breath, closer to him than the voice of the child, and his eyes picked out his brother, kneeling on the beaten earth floor, huddled over something.

"Sam? Are you hurt? Answer me!" His voice came out a little harsher than he intended, as he picked his way slowly towards his brother, trying to keep one eye on the demon-child, who sat calmly on a bale of hay about five metres from the brothers', swinging his legs back and forth calmly.

"Sam's not hurt, are you, Sam?" Jordan asked cheerfully. "Nope, not a scratch on him. I can't really do that much to you, not while you're wearing those charms. Still, he has made an awful mess, Dean. What do you think, Sam? Will big brother be angry when he sees what you've done? Disappointed?"

"What are you talking about?" Dean snarled at the child. He was close enough now to touch Sam, and he reached out, taking hold of his brother's collar. He heard the way Sam's breath hitched, and he tugged, wanting to get Sam behind him, wanting to put himself between his younger brother and the demon boy.

"I asked him again to let me possess him. I asked nicely." The child sounded petulant now. "And still, he wouldn't take that charm off. All he had to do was take that charm off. If he had, she'd still be…well, in one piece."

Dean tugged harder, forcing Sam to kneel upright, to stop huddling over what he now knew was Faye's body. He only needed to look for a second to see the gore; to imagine the pain she must have felt as she died. Then he averted his eyes.

"Sam get up." Again the command was spoken more harshly than intended, and the demon picked it up.

"What's that we hear in big brother's voice, Sam? Anger? Shame? Disgust?"

Dean felt Sam tremble under his hand, and it took every ounce of self control he had not to just shoot the thing then and there. "The only thing that disgusts me in this room is you." He spat out at it. "Sam, come on. Let's go."

He squeezed his brother's shoulder, but Sam didn't move, his eyes rooted on the demon child.

"Dean, we have to save him."

"Sam, we can't. We can't save everyone." Dean tried to reach around, tried to catch Sam's chin and force his gaze away from Jordan, but the child was speaking again already.

"Of course you can save him, Sam, of course you can." The child spoke encouragingly now, his voice eager. "All you have to do is take off that charm. That's all. And the boy walks away, and lives his life, plays trucks or planes or trains or whatever it is little boys do." It narrowed its' eyes then, black slits finding Sam's own in the darkness. "But I'm done playing here. If you don't take off that charm, and you don't take it off right now, this little boy is going to die in even more pain than his mother did." He nodded towards the still and bloody figure on the floor. "And it will be all.Your.Fault."

Dean started to speak, started to say Sam, don't listen, but then the demon was gone and it was Jordan, his eyes round and terrified, his face white as a ghost, his chubby little hand reaching out towards Sam and his tiny, young voice begging.

"Please help me. Please do what it says." He was crying, reaching towards his mother, and Sam was gone from trembling now to full blown shaking, and his voice broke as he answered.

"I'm so sorry…I can't."

For one second the child was gone, the demon was there. "Wrong answer." It said, grimly, and then it was all horror, it was flames shooting up at the child's feet, around Jordan, covering him, reaching towards the roof, it was smoke and a child screaming in agony and fear and in a way a child should never, ever scream, and Sam was half sobbing and half screaming too and the barn was creaking as the flames ate away at old wood and rafters moaned as they began to gave way.

And Dean was pulling, heaving Sam towards the door, and god this was sickeningly familiar, the fire and the heat and Sam sobbing and screaming and Dean pulling and wishing to god this was going down differently, but it wasn't, it was over and done and someone else was dead, and it wasn't the bad guy.

The barn burnt to the ground, and a mother and child who had once laughed and loved and played and lived inside it died and burnt with it, and Dean and Sam escaped with cuts and bruises and burns, but it was the emotional wounds that would not heal, and a few physical pains were the least of their problems.


	9. HappyIsh Endings

SURPRISE!!!

Here you are, faithful readers...if you even remember this story...here is the end to it!!!

...Or is it???

* * *

So here they are.

Everything that could of gone wrong, has gone wrong, and Sam has only now, over a week later, started to show even the first signs of healing.

Dean is cautiously optimistic.

He wants his brother to be okay, more than anything, but he can't trivialise the trauma that Sam has been through. The experience was bad enough for Dean; he sometimes finds himself bolting awake at night, gasping for air after dreaming of flames and pain and screaming.

God only knows what fills Sam's nightmares.

He waits and watches, the morning following Sam's tentative declaration that he is feeling better.

Sam still seems a little lost, sometimes hesitating in the middle of what he is doing, a lost expression on his face as if he has forgotten something but can't remember what.

Still, he manages to make it into the shower on his own steam, and when he emerges thirty minutes later, the stubble is gone from his cheeks and Dean can smell the sweet, clean scent of shampoo and conditioner and soap lingering on Sam's skin.

He grins broadly at Sam, unable to contain his pride and relief at this show of independence, of Sammy-ness, and Sam flushes a little as if he knows what Dean is thinking and gives his brother a shy smile back.

Each smile, each word, each small action that Sam undertakes for himself, lifts Dean's mood, makes the weight on his shoulders a little lighter and a little easier to bear.

Sam even agrees to a late lunch at the diner down the road, and orders for himself, nothing more than a chicken and salad sandwich, but when it comes out he eats it all and finishes his chocolate milkshake without being prompted once by Dean.

When he snags the newspaper on the next table over from them, Dean's expression changes and he frowns slightly as he studies Sam across the table.

His brother looks up, in tune as ever to Dean's moods. "What?"

"You're not doing what I think you're doing, are you?" Dean asked carefully. He is both impressed and delighted with Sam's show of improvement this morning, and is torn between nurturing it and protecting his younger brother.

"What do you think I'm doing?"

"Looking for a hunt."

Sam sighs a little, but there is no irritation there. "Dean, we have to hunt again sooner or later. It's been a week, man."

"A week during which you haven't slept one night through, and that's been the least of your worries, Sam." Dean's voice is gentle, and when Sam lowers his eyes, he even reaches across the table and taps Sam's hand gently with a closed fist, then lets his hand rest very lightly on top of his younger brother's. "Hey. I am not judging you or criticising you in any way, man. That last hunt sucked. Big time."

Sam shivers slightly, although the diner is warm, and his eyes are locked downwards on the paper in front of him, his too long hair soft and loose from being freshly washed helping him to hide from his brother's gaze.

"Let's not talk about that." He says, a little hoarsely, and that confirms what Dean already knew, that Sam is not ready to get back on that horse. Not yet.

"We've been through this." Dean reminds him quietly. "You don't have to be okay. You take your time with this. But don't pretend with me, all right? You don't have to do that."

They are both thinking of the long week just passed, of all the sleepless nights and tears and Sam crying in his big brother's arms and Dean's endless patience.

Sam lets out a long breath, shakily. "You're not getting…impatient?"

"I like it here." Dean lightens his voice, just a little. "There's cable in the room and this diner has 5 kinds of pie, Sammy. What more could I want?"

Sam smiles a little, but it is a sad smile. "A hunt. I know you get…I know that the hunt is important…"

"Sam." Dean waits a moment, and when Sam doesn't respond, kicks him lightly under the table. Sam looks up, his expression weary and guilty and a blend of another couple of emotions that Dean is tired of seeing. He catches his brother's gaze and holds it. "_You're_ important." He tells him, firmly, openly, Dean Winchester with no guards up. "You're the most important thing to me. If you don't get that by now, man, we've got issues."

Sam laughs a little, his eyes a little too bright. "We've got issues any way you look at it." He mumbles, then swallows and gives Dean a much more genuine smile. "But I do know that. Of course I know it, Dean."

"Good." Dean says briskly, giving his brother's hand one last, firm squeeze before letting go. "So we're staying a bit longer. And since we are, I'm going to have another piece of pie."


End file.
